by Craig Davis
***
After a full day of sorting letters and shaking off paper cuts, Joe B. stretched the kinks out of his back and listened carefully to the rattle his pager made as he shook it. No matter how hard he stared at it, he’d gotten no calls during the day. He found that standing stooped over a conveyor belt made his feet sore, but his right wrist wasn’t as stiff as it used to be at the end of a day. He worked his way gingerly toward the heavy double doors.
Armed with a new priority PIN, he mounted the elevator and rode to the highest floor of allowed access. Along the way he rehearsed his dispute against the Big Boss. He had no idea what to expect as he would try to enter the boss’ palace of offices. The elevator doors slid open.
“What?” he blurted. The floor number read “10.”
“I can’t even get to my old office floor?” he asked disgustedly to nobody there, knowing he’d have plenty of time to answer himself in the stairwell.
Like the wisdom of an ancient culture, Joe B.’s second encounter with the stairs that day began with a single step. The problem was the thousands of steps that followed. Amid the clanging and banging of doors and footsteps, he made his way slowly from one floor to the next. Only once before had he been in the penthouse office suite, when he was chosen to help at the First Tuesday meeting in the absence of the First Vice President of Development of International Integration of Core Technological Orientation (Comprising All Pertinent Corporate Divisions). He hadn’t actually attended the meeting, but he stood outside the windows, prepared to assist at any moment, able to see dim figures moving about within the conference room. That time, as a junior executive, he had been allowed to use the direct elevator to the office complex. Now he worked in – the mailroom. Joe B. didn’t even know where the stairway door would open to.
As he made his winding ascent, Joe B. tried to prepare himself for every response he could imagine coming from the Big Boss:
“I’m so glad you’re here! There’s been a terrible mistake!”
or “What can I help you with?”
or “What was your name again?”
or “Who do you think you are?”
or maybe – “Security!”
A couple of times Joe B. talked himself out of going through with it and nearly turned around, only to brace up his courage again and continue up the stairs. His surly feet reminded him of their mistreatment over the past two days. Lost in his thoughts, at times he believed he heard the laughter of a multitude gathering around him, and the voices of those who stand looking. One after the other, his feet went to their mechanical duty as he stared down at them. He did not notice as the surface of the steps changed from a toothy grating to lustrous brushed steel. He nearly bumped his head on the single door, the crown of the building’s stairwell, that finally stood before him. Squaring his shoulders, he caught his breath before trying the knob.
Sheepishly he peeked through the narrow opening.
“Oh, no!” he groaned.
Standing calmly by the door, the guard from the day before jounced merrily upon his toes and hummed a tune. Joe B. ducked silently back behind the door.
“How could he be on duty on this floor?” he thought with gritted teeth. “What if he recognizes me? Or do all the guards just look alike?”
This thought intrigued him, and he peered unsuccessfully past the door again. He couldn’t tell.
“I should have gotten his badge number,” he thought, wondering if the guard even had a badge number. “I’ll have to think of some way to get past him.” Joe B. glanced around the landing for some loose object he might use to shield his face from the guard’s scrutiny. In his former job he might have had a file or some loose papers on hand he could pretend to read, burying his face deep in false concentration, but not as a mailroom worker. He didn’t have even a single stray envelope to use as a disguise.
In the end Joe B. decided to rely on the old coughing trick, using a handkerchief to cover his face and a fit of lung-exercise to excuse interaction with the guard. Years of movie-going had prepared him for this moment – it had to work.
He shook out his handkerchief and carefully covered the lower half of his face, hacked mightily and stepped through the door.
“Gracious!” exclaimed the guard with real concern, taken quite by surprise. “Are you well, sir?”
Joe B. made somewhat urgent eye contact and tried to indicate that he would indeed be just fine as he proceeded to cough as if he’d inhaled a good part of the Mojave Desert. He pointed lamely toward a pair of doors at the end of the hall and took a tentative step in that direction.
“Those are the outer offices of the Big Boss, sir,” said the guard gently. “Unusual for him to have a visitor this time of day. Is he expecting you, sir?” The guard spoke with grace and quiet confidence, not at all like the day before, and Joe B. looked a little closer to make sure he recognized his old nemesis. He pretended to say something through more coughing and took another small step.
“Please let me help you, sir,” the guard persisted, taking Joe B. by the elbow. “Perhaps get the door for you?” Joe B. coughed and nodded, not believing this was the kind of security the Big Boss had for his own offices. The pair walked down the hall like a new bride and groom, and Joe B.’s cough suddenly got much better. He continued to hold his handkerchief to his face, though, just in case.
The doors opened to a richly appointed room lined with deeply upholstered furniture, surrounding a large central desk. A belt-high barrier like an altar rail branched off the desk to each side, extending to opposite walls. The desktop lay completely bare, all business taken care of for the day, with a beautiful but determinedly professional young woman sitting behind. She smiled brightly at her two visitors.
“This young man needs help,” offered the guard. “He seems to have something caught in his throat, or at least he did have,” looking to Joe B., who coughed helpfully, but not very hard.
“Oh, dear,” replied the woman sympathetically. “Can I get you some cold water, or perhaps you’d rather have tea? I have some nice Earl Grey, not bags, but loose leaf. I’d be happy to brew you a cup if you think that might help?”
Joe B. couldn’t believe his good fortune. This was going to be a piece of cake.
“Would you care for a piece of cake?” she added, gesturing toward a platter of individually wrapped pastries. Joe B. stared in wonder.
“I need to see the Big Boss,” he said in a convincingly ratchety voice.
“I believe he has an appointment with the Big Boss,” the guard interpreted.
“Well, then, let me check out my appointment book,” the young woman smiled confidently. She sat behind her desk and carefully pulled the center drawer out, from which she produced a large book bound in leather. The ribbon hanging from the bottom edge opened the book easily to the correct date, which, at this late hour, had already been changed to tomorrow. Her brow furrowing as she turned back the page, the young woman politely studied the foregone conclusion.
“No, I’m afraid there are no more appointments with the Big Boss left for today. Do you like sugar in your tea?”
“It’s not really an appointment – yes, thanks – just a little meeting,” Joe B. stammered. “I need to ask a question.”
“Do you?” the woman asked, pouring hot water into a china teapot. “May I try to answer it?”
“It’s a simple question, but a difficult answer.”
“You’ve come such a long way up those stairs,” she replied, pouring the tea into a delicate cup balanced on a saucer. “You did have to take the stairs, didn’t you?” Joe B. nodded pathetically. “Are you quite sure I can’t be of some help?” The guard was gazing at Joe B. like a beneficent old uncle.
“I’m from the office of Development of International Integration of Core Technological Orientation (Emerging Nations Division) – ”
“Really?” asked the woman. “Has your office relaxed the dress guidelines all this much?”
“Well, no,” Joe B. said, gl
ancing down at his blue-collarness. “I worked in the mailroom today. That’s the point of my question – ”
“Did your office get some mail they shouldn’t?”
“Yes, or no, that’s not it at all – but yes. Sort of.”
“I must say, that tea was just what you needed. You sound much better now.”
“Oh, yes, thanks.” Joe B. had forgotten he was supposed to be deathly ill.
“Well, let me call the upper offices and talk to the Big Boss’ secretary. We’ll see what we can do for you.” She opened up a side drawer of the desk and pulled out a phone.
Joe B. almost interrupted to make sure the woman understood why she was calling, but thought better of it. Progress is progress, he said to himself, and best not to get in the way.
“Hello? Yes, there’s a man … indeed … yes, he is. I don’t know. Should I find out? No, I don’t think so. Yes. Oh, yes, I’m sure of that. He doesn’t appear to be. Do you want me to call down there? Okay. Okay. That’s all right then. Yes. That’s what I’ll do. All right, that will be fine. Yes, that’s the best thing. Of course. Yes, of course. Okay. Good-bye,” she said between pauses.
She set down the receiver and smiled at Joe B. “The Big Boss won’t see you today.”
“What? You didn’t even tell them my name.”
“He knows your name.”
“But what was that whole conversation?” Joe B. at once felt confused and frustrated and bordering on angry.
“Never mind that. I want to do everything I can for you. What would you like?”
“I’d like a meeting with the Big Boss.”
“That’s the only thing I can’t do today. The Big Boss simply isn’t seeing anyone else today. Please, tell me something else I can do for you?”
Joe B. was about to think of something she could do when she smiled up at him in such a pleasant way that he changed his mind. He wanted desperately to be furious, but somehow he couldn’t bear to take his annoyance out on just a fellow cog in the machine. Dumbly he stood before her like a schoolboy with a crush.
“You’ve had such a hard day, sir,” offered the guard. “Perhaps you’d like to lie down for just a moment.”
“Yes, please do,” the young woman joined in, taking his half-empty cup and saucer. “I think you’ll find these couches quite comfortable, and I’ll fetch you a pillow. It will help you to rest your mind.”
Joe B. sank into the plush leather and the soft cadence of the woman’s voice as well. He unexpectedly felt his body lose its tension, and he started to think of ducklings.
“Whatever your questions for the Big Boss are, they must be very troubling,” she continued. “Otherwise you wouldn’t have gone to such effort to come here. We try so hard to keep everything running smoothly, but you know in an operation as big as Universal Whirligig, things are bound to go wrong sometimes. Even though the Big Boss couldn’t see you tonight, please understand he cares deeply about every one of his employees, and he wants what’s best for each one.”
Joe B. snapped out of his daydream just long enough to think, “Yeah, right.”
“Ha, ha, I remember this one time,” the guard chimed in, shaking his head. “I was on night shift, and the Big Boss was working late. I didn’t know he was here, so when I found his upper office door unlocked, of course I fastened tight the mechanical deadbolt, with him inside. Well, not only that, but then when I was checking out the stairwell, my key ring slipped off its hook and fell straight down that tiny gap through the flights of steps. I couldn’t have done that if I’d tried. I was only a few floors down to fetch them when I got the Big Boss’ call on my radio. I tell you, that stairwell is a long piece of business.” – Joe B. grimaced – “And those keys fell thirty or forty floors before they kicked onto a landing. It took me two hours to get the Big Boss out of his office. Boy, was he mad, but he didn’t say anything. I sure thought I was done for, though.
“Well, I tell you, the next evening I came in, and there was a stack of Key lime pies sitting by the door of my locker. ‘Here’s an extra set of keys,’ a note said. There was enough for all the lads to have a slice, plus an extra to take home to the missus. The Big Boss, he’s all right.”
Joe B. thought and wondered hard at the story, but he couldn’t help but smile a little, too.
“I’m sure you’ve had a difficult day, sir,” the young woman broke in. “Here’s a little something, an expression of this office’s sympathy, and please do call again if you ever want to contact the Big Boss.”
She helped him rise from the couch and handed him a pen-and-picture-frame set made of antique brass, heavily weighted, thick felt on the bottom and the Universal Whirligig logo engraved on the top. Perfect for the well-appointed desk. Joe B.’s shoulders drooped as he gazed at the gift and softly thanked her.
“I do hope the days to come are much easier for you, and any time you’d like to talk again, I’d truly like to see you. You are a very important part of the Universal Whirligig family, and I personally want to make sure you feel welcome at any time.” She led him gently toward the door.
“Now, here’s a card with a temporary priority PIN, so you can take the elevator all the way down. It’s only good once, so I’m afraid you won’t be able to come back on the elevator. But if you do come up again, please make sure you tell me how everything is going for you. I really want to know, and I want to do everything I possibly can for you.” She looked like she might cry. Joe B. heard the door click shut behind him.
He stood silently for a moment, unsure whether he’d been blessed or blown off. The Big Boss surely was not going to listen to his complaints, but on the other hand, it seemed like he knew them already. The receptionist’s rejection was so gracious and sincere, he almost felt good about it. He almost felt like he was right back in his old world.
But as he approached the elevators, and saw his dirty and disheveled reflection in the polished stainless steel doors, he knew he was not.
